


The Feral Animal (Ch6)

by CarmillaCarmine



Series: The Memoirs of Dr. John H. Watson [6]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Aftercare, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Bottom John Watson, Canon Compliant, Deleted Scenes, Developing Sherlock Holmes/John Watson, Episode: s02e02 The Hounds of Baskerville, Fluff and Smut, Hand Jobs, Kissing, M/M, Naked John Watson, Naked Sherlock, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Power Play, Rimming, Sex Toys, Shameless Smut, Smut, TJLC | The Johnlock Conspiracy, Top Sherlock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-25
Updated: 2018-09-25
Packaged: 2019-07-29 22:41:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,281
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16273841
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CarmillaCarmine/pseuds/CarmillaCarmine
Summary: After solving the case in Baskerville, the duo spends one more night at The Cross Keys hotel. Both Sherlock and John are strung from the stress and subsequent excitement from the successful outcome of the case. The charged atmosphere between them coupled with lingering effects of the drug from the moor results in their need of releasing of the pent-up emotion.Sex and fluff. No plot. Porn/light BDSM warning.





	The Feral Animal (Ch6)

**Author's Note:**

> Part 6 of "deleted scenes" style fic [The Memoirs of Dr. John H. Watson](https://archiveofourown.org/series/1158497)  
> Almost all parts can be read as stand-alone stories but read better together. The Memoirs fit between or during episodes of the Sherlock TV show. At the beginning of each part, I'll be indicating when in the show the part takes place. Consequently, there are gaps between my stories where the episodes of the show fit it.
> 
> Takes place by the end of The Hounds of Baskerville – S2 E2

  

Finally! They had solved it. One more night in this place and they could go back to London. John almost missed the noise. Almost. Compared to howling hounds running on the moors, it was pure music to John’s ears. 

“Couldn’t do a double room, my foot,” John mumbled opening the door to his and Sherlock’s room.  

The previous night, Sherlock was so terrified that when he had finally come upstairs, he had passed out on the armchair in the corner of the room.  

 _‘Is yours a snorer_ _?_ _’, he asked_ _._ _P_ _ffft_ , John thought. Well, he actually knew the answer to that question. No, Sherlock didn’t snore. Bloody hell. 

“Is something wrong?” Sherlock materialised next to John. He did that sometimes, walked so quietly that John could barely hear him; a tall man with the grace of a dancer. 

“Nah, just thinking. I’m so glad this case happened. I wouldn't have survived much more of your case-needy whining.” 

“I don’t whine!” 

“That’s exactly what you do, Sherlock.” 

Sherlock huffed as they entered the room, “You haven’t told me about your lead. U.M.Q.R.A. wasn’t it? 

“Yes, I told you it was nothing.” 

“Oh come on, it must have been something if you’re avoiding looking me in the face,” Sherlock’s voice didn’t hide his amusement. 

“It was just old folk dogging in their cars blinking the lights with their arses, ok? Happy?” John snapped but not without a smile creeping to his lips. 

“Oh John, your face!” Sherlock laughed, genuinely laughed and the booming sound, interspersed with wheezing, filled the room.  

“I’m still mad at you, by the way. About your leaving...”  _shagging and marrying someone..._ “and telling me I’m not your friend. People have feelings, Sherlock.”   _I have feelings. More feelings than you care to know_ _about_ _._  

“I apologised,” Sherlock grew more serious and a tad confused.  

John made a rude noise at the back of his throat in lieu of response. 

“What kind of experiment did Irene Adler help you with anyway? You’ve never told me,” John wasn’t certain if he really wanted to know but the curiosity was stronger than the comfort of oblivion.  

“I think what you’re mad at me for is the experiment itself, not my leaving for a few days. Am I wrong?” Sherlock linked his fingers together as he leaned on the wall.  

“You...ohhh. You went to her as a client?” John didn’t attempt to hide his surprise. 

“Of course. Why else would I go there?” 

John opened his mouth and mulled the conversation over. Had Sherlock not seen it as cheating because it hadn’t been emotional? Was it cheating if they weren’t a couple? John wondered himself if his jealousy wasn’t misplaced, but he felt it whether he wanted to or not. It was just an experiment to Sherlock, apparently. John would never be able to understand what went on in that funny head of his.  

“Did she ever say anything about the importance of communication?” John had to know if Sherlock at least learned something helpful.  

“Yes. During sexual acts it’s very important,” Sherlock answered matter-of-factly, quite proud of himself.   

Sexual acts. John's body reacted to those words leaving Sherlock’s mouth as if he had been slapped, and not in the face.  

“No, it’s not only then. You tell me nothing, Sherlock. You disappear, you don’t call and then return and get on with your life like nothing happened,” John refrained from pushing an index finger into Sherlock’s chest as he said it. 

“Because nothing did. And that’s what you always do. Get on with your life.” 

“People care, Sherlock...”  _I care._ ”... and wonder  if you’re alright when you’re gone.”  _If you’re not lying in a ditch somewhere, mindless from overdose._  

“You told me you’d seen the papers. I was all right,” Sherlock said unemotionally. 

“You don't get it, do you?” John was on the brink of giving up the whole subject. 

Sherlock blinked. Twice. John sighed with resignation, his hand sliding through his hair in a frustrated gesture. 

“What if I make it up to you?” Sherlock’s fingers grazed the top of John’s palm and that was enough. John was ready for whatever came next, whether it was a new case or Sherlock. He’d rather prefer Sherlock to come next. “If we’re still pointing fingers; didn’t you just have a drink with a lady therapist? Louise. You are on first name basis, hmm?” Sherlock’s eyes were searching his.  

 _Was Sherlock Holmes jealous? Nah, they weren’t a couple_ _, so_ _why would he be jealous?_   _He isn’t like that. He doesn’t feel things th_ _at_ _way._ John didn’t know what they were and apparently neither did Sherlock. 

“Oh please,” John sighed remembering the whole fiasco at the bar with Dr. Frankland cock-blocking him. ‘Live-in PA’, he said. Arsehole. John realised that he shouldn’t have thought that, the man had died for heaven’s sake. Apparently, John was still strung out from the horror and excitement of the case.  

“John? You do realize it is perfectly fine to be attracted to both sexes, right?” Sherlock’s soft fingers stroked John’s chin to lift it up. “John?” 

John was confused at Sherlock's blatant statement coming out of nowhere until he realized that he was squeezing Sherlock’s hand as they stood just inside the room. He needed his mind far away from this horrid day and from the emotional confusion bubbling under the thin layer of his skin. He squeezed Sherlock’s hand again, this time looking up at his face to assess his reaction.  

“Yeah... Yes. I don’t know. I just know I want  _this_ _,_  Sherlock,” he indicated their hands interwoven together. “Let me touch you,” John’s hand slid up Sherlock’s torso to his arms, discarding Sherlock’s coat, leaving it to pool on the floor. 

“You don't have to do this,” Sherlock's words belied his expression.  

“I want this. Even you can’t make me do something I don’t want to do.” 

“I can’t?” the question had a playful undertone. 

“No. Everything you ask for or do to me, I actually want,” John’s expression was serious, he wanted Sherlock to know he meant what he’d said.  

“John, remember-” The detective’s voice was stern and John immediately knew what he was about to say.  

“I know,” John traced Sherlock's jawline with a series of kisses. “I’ll say ‘Vatican Cameos’.” Sherlock murmured in agreement tilting his head to the side to give John access to his throat. “And I will use it if necessary,” John replied in a serious tone, but his hand kept wandering.  

“That’s...” Sherlock’s words caught in his throat when John reached his erection, “...good.” Sherlock groaned pushing his hips unto John’s eager palm. Excellent, John thought, his detective was giving in to John’s touch and wasn’t that the most glorious thing 

“So, am I your friend now, Sherlock? You did tell me I’m  _stimulating_ , am I right?” John’s voice had a playful undertone now, a squeeze of his hand on Sherlock’s cock punctuating the last words.  

“Give me your mouth, John,” Sherlock’s breathless command stirred John’s libido. 

John obliged, taking Sherlock's face in his hands before their lips clashed. Their tongues danced a desperate tango of testosterone overload. John could feel the detective’s tensed body as his hands wrapped around John, holding him close in a greedy embrace. One hand travelled to squeeze John’s arse and pull their hips closer together, pinning Sherlock’s erection to John’s abdomen. It was John who groaned into the kiss this time at the friction of their bodies grinding against each other. John’s fingers twisted into Sherlock’s soft hair, holding on as if it were an anchor.  

With a sigh of regret at the separation, John broke the kiss to start unbuttoning Sherlock’s shirt. His hands moved fast; he didn’t have the cool patience Sherlock possessed and after the second button he just ripped the rest apart. The buttons went flying in all directions and made tiny staccato sounds wherever they landed. The belt was next. John slid it from Sherlock's trousers with a sharp tug but before he managed to toss it aside, Sherlock caught John’s wrist and took the belt, wrapping it once around his own fist.  

The swiftness and grace of Sherlock’s movements never ceased to amaze John. Whenever he moved, it was similar to watching a dancer, with straight back, sure steps and an occasional turn. The way he caught the belt coupled with the look he gave John at that moment suggested John was in trouble. However, it was the kind of trouble he loved to be in with Sherlock. Danger, surprise, and excitement were the things Sherlock never failed to deliver.  

Sherlock's trousers slid to the ground with a soft thump and only the silk of his black boxers covered that which was clearly extremely happy to see John. John couldn’t suppress a smile that Sherlock wanted him just as much as he wanted Sherlock. John slid his hand inside the boxers to wrap it around Sherlock’s cock and pulled it so that the head peaked out over the waistband.  

He looked up at Sherlock’s face, the straight nose, impossible cheekbones and lips carved as if from a mountain, which were slightly open in a sharp intake of air caused by the caresses of John’s hand. John placed a chaste kiss to Sherlock's jawline before he lowered himself to his knees. He placed his palms on the backs of Sherlock’s calves and slid them upwards until he reached the buttocks. He was still observing the reaction on the detective’s face as his mouth moved to Sherlock’s boxers and he gently bit at Sherlock's balls through the fabric.  

Sherlock’s hand flew to John’s hair. With a tug he turned John’s head up to look at him. 

“Oh John...” for an erudite man, Sherlock lacked the vocabulary to describe what he saw in John or what he felt at that moment. The belt still swinging from Sherlock’s other hand looped its way around John’s neck. The detective looked at John kneeling before him with hands on Sherlock’s thighs and his neck bound with a belt, the end of which Sherlock was holding. John felt the tightness of the belt but it didn’t hurt. On the contrary, the idea of Sherlock holding him, controlling him, made John’s breathing accelerate.   

Sherlock was coming undone and had to hold on to a semblance of power with the belt. John’s chest expanded at the sight of the reaction he had caused. Because it was John doing that to him, making Sherlock gasp for  _him_. John took the waistband of the boxers between his teeth and slowly slid them down the long legs in front of him. Sherlock gave him just enough belt length to do it slowly and once John reached the calves, the pull of the belt on John’s neck brought him up to his knees again, eye-level with Sherlock’s glorious erection. John wanted to taste it so badly he was licking his lower lip.  

He’d never wanted a man so fiercely. Come to think of it, he’d never craved a woman like that either. There was something, he couldn’t identify what, about Sherlock that brought John to his knees, both literally and figuratively.  

John raised his gaze to meet Sherlock’s before he licked the tear of precome from the tip and started a slow and torturous slide down Sherlock's erection.  John had sunk down a little over halfway onto Sherlock’s erection when his throat protested. His other hand was fondling Sherlock’s sac and he suddenly realised he had no bloody clue what he was doing. 

“Let me know what I should,-” he started, and felt a blush creeping to his cheeks. 

“You’re doing just fine,” came the breathless reply from above. John felt a smile tug his lips. The great detective was coming apart from John’s touch. Quickly enough, John fell into a bobbing rhythm adding his hand to pump the base of Sherlock’s cock. Sherlock twisted one hand in John’s short hair, as the other hand was still holding him on a short leash.  

“Slower,” Sherlock gasped. He pulled at John’s hair, hard enough that John’s mouth slid free of his cock. A thin sheen of sweat covered Sherlock’s torso and John couldn’t wait to see the detective giving in to pleasure completely. Finally, the grip on the belt slackened and John could continue his sucking torture, a deep need in him making him groan into Sherlock's erection as his own was helplessly trapped in his trousers. “Hollow your cheeks, John. Hmmm good. You feel so good,” John followed instructions and basked in the rare praise. 

When he felt Sherlock’s grip tighten and his legs tense, John picked up the pace and soon was rewarded by the glorious sight of Sherlock’s body arching from the wall, his head falling back, his mouth releasing a loud groan as his orgasm hit him. John should know what to expect, but the sudden flow of semen into his mouth made him pull back and Sherlock loosened his grip to allow him to do so. The warm spurts hit John’s face, his torso and his shirt in a random array of splashes. Sherlock was looking down at him then and the look on the detective’s flushed face told John he had done well. John smiled, feeling his face getting crimson. He was quite proud of himself.  

Suddenly, Sherlock knelt in front of him, took John’s filthy face into his hands and linked their mouths together. John could breathe better as the end of the belt slid to the ground, and the rest still remaining around his throat became loose. They fell to the ground with Sherlock on top of John, squeezing John’s erection with his hand. John’s hips arched towards Sherlock’s hand, increasing the friction. 

“You’re so filthy, John. So glorious with my come on your face and in your hair. I want you to make even more mess,” John hadn’t come in his pants since he was a teenager but tonight, with Sherlock’s words enticing him and the fast, rhythmic frottage on his erection, he knew he didn’t have time to stop it from happening again. Nor did he want to. Sucking Sherlock in itself had inflamed John’s senses to the point Sherlock’s touch on him was sheer torment.   

“Come for me, John. Now!” John’s body as if metaphysically linked to Sherlock’s demands, did what it was told and his body tensed before releasing pent-up frustration, the pulses of which left his pants and trousers uncomfortably sticky. 

Sherlock held him through the post-orgasm pulsing of his body before they both stumbled into the tiny shower stall. They bumped elbows on the plastic walls of the stall making a loud ruckus. Sherlock's back ended up on the electric shower on the wall and turned it on, drenching him in an instant. John’s laughter filled the tiny compartment and Sherlock promptly joined him. John marvelled at the beauty of the sound and the sight of Sherlock’s happiness.  

“Your hair,” John bent in half with laughter as far as the cramped space let him at the sight of the wet black curls plastered to Sherlock’s forehead. Abruptly, Sherlock switched places and hauled John under the spray. John gasped at the freezing water cascading down his body. It was slowly warming up though, in sync with his libido. His laugher ceased at the look in Sherlock’s eyes. He had that look when he deduced something important for a case, found something fascinating and captivating. John’s chest swelled knowing this look was intended for him. “You’re doing the look.” 

“What look? 

John unbuttoned just the top of his shirt and pulled it off over his head the rest of the way, throwing it carelessly on the bathroom floor. His come-stained, wet trousers were next along with his briefs. “That look,” he managed to say before Sherlock was on him like a feral animal. 

John felt the bite on his neck first, as if he was being held in place with Sherlock’s teeth, then Sherlock’s hands on his buttocks, squeezing ferociously. This was how Sherlock behaved with everything else in life, John thought. Sherlock could be calm and collected when he was focused on a case or over his microscope but once he let the frenzied man sleeping inside him out, he went absolutely berserk. And John loved it. Loved the open-mouthed kisses on his neck, the possessive grip, all of it. Suddenly, Sherlock ceased his movements, his shallow quick breaths close to John’s ear. “I can stop...” 

“No,” John said firmly which made Sherlock graze his ear with his teeth, his wet curls brushing John’s cheek. “You’re not allowed to do this,” John could tell that his soldier-stern command turned Sherlock on, yet he still liked to take control. John turned to face Sherlock to put one hand on Sherlock’s cheek and he used the other to pull the hair out of Sherlock’s eyes. “You’re not allowed to make me want you so badly, my insides hurt and then stop.”  

“But I...” Sherlock looked at his hands then back at John. 

“No, you didn’t hurt me. I trust you. I  _want_  this. I could easily stop you if I didn’t like it, right?” 

“Yes, just use the safeword,” Sherlock replied seriously. Then the left side of his lips moved upward in a gorgeous little smile. 

John smiled back and started removing Sherlock’s buttonless shirt while looking into his eyes. John could get lost in them as they glinted from drops of water or something else entirely, the pools of colour hiding an abundance of emotion; hurt, misjudgement and cruelty which Sherlock must have dealt with for most of his life. “Has anyone ever told you how handsome you are...how absolutely perfect you are, Sherlock?” 

Sherlock opened his mouth then closed it, swallowing audibly. Sherlock always had a witty reply to everything except praise about anything other than his intellect. He could hardly accept it, much less respond to it. But that was alright, John was with him, he had chosen to be with him. They both had.  

All of a sudden, something snapped inside Sherlock and John was pinned to the stall’s wall, face first in a loud clash of bodies rocking the flimsy structure. 

“Someone will hear, and they already think we’re...” John started saying. 

“I don’t care what people think about us, John. I want you here with me for as long as you’ll stay. Let them talk. Just forget everyone else for a moment,” were the last coherent words Sherlock said before the beast in him moulded itself to John’s back.  

 _‘As long as I’ll stay?’ What’s that supposed to mean?_  Were the last thoughts running through John’s head right before it was completely devoid of coherent thought. 

Sherlock’s cock was already at half-mast when John felt in against his arse cheeks. More biting followed the heated touch of the detective’s hands. Oh, God. Sherlock’s teeth were scraping John’s shoulders, administering quite painful bites to which John’s chest reacted in low rumblings of pleasure. Sherlock’s right hand travelled to John’s bicep and his long fingers exercised a series of pinches and twists until John’s body bent just slightly, sending his backside back, harder into Sherlock. 

That’s when John felt Sherlock’s fingers probing him from behind, cautiously massaging his back entrance. Even though they had done this before, John was still unfamiliar with the sensations and what followed. But oh god, how he wanted it. How he relished the feeling of Sherlock’s hands on him, anywhere and everywhere on him. But Sherlock was too cautious. 

“Sherlock, please. I’ll say Vatican Cameos when it’s too much. But until then, just please don’t stop. I won’t break.” 

John’s hand moved to his still sensitive erection, which was waking up just in time for the party. Sherlock’s hand moved away from his nipple to bat John’s wandering hand away. 

“No touching. Your cock is mine, John. Understood?” 

“Yes,” gasped John, the air from his lungs being squished by Sherlock’s forearm pushing under his shoulder blades. Then soft suds covered John’s back as Sherlock started lathering his body, his large yet graceful hands slipped over his pecs and abdomen, then lower. “Yes,” seemed the only word John’s lips were capable of forming on his lips as he was being washed with an astounding attention to detail. When Sherlock’s touch was gone, John stood under the spray watching Sherlock wash himself, this time quickly and efficiently. John wanted to do it for him, but he was too hypnotized by the sight in front of him to move.  

Unceremoniously naked, Sherlock left the bathroom to get something from his luggage. John turned off the shower and followed suit, wrapping a towel around his hips as something flew in his direction. He caught it one-handed but the movement caused the towel to slip to the ground. He was too intrigued to care.  

“It has a pink bow on it...” The palm sized box was neatly wrapped in a shiny bright red wrapping paper and adorned with a bow. John bit his bottom lip in an effort not to comment. 

“I didn’t wrap it, obviously. Just open it,” Sherlock noticed John’s confused stare as they both sat next to each other on the bed. Sherlock kept his eyes on John’s face to observe his reaction to the gift inside. 

John tore the wrapping paper and his hands froze. “Is that what you went there for?” he looked at Sherlock whose brows were furrowed and eyes focused on John. “You went to Prague to do some shopping but you can’t go to the Tesco Express at the corner to get some milk?” 

“Does that mean you don’t like the gift?” Sherlock’s eyes searched his face intently. He was trying to gauge John’s reaction. John felt a warmth spreading in his chest. The most caring he’d ever seen Sherlock was behind closed doors, where no one else could see him. Maybe ‘caring’ was too big of a word but he was cognizant that someone could have feelings; that someone being John. John was painfully aware Sherlock wasn’t recognizing the reasons for some of the emotions John was feeling at times, but it was a huge progress from the first time they had met. 

“It’s a,-” Sherlock took John’s silence as a prompt to explain but John cut him off abruptly, not wanting to hear the word coming from Sherlock yet. 

“I know what it is. It just looks...big.” 

“It’s not as big as...” the sly grin Sherlock was sporting could be clearly heard in his voice. 

“Shut up, Sherlock,” John felt his face go flaming red yet again, his body heating immediately. He couldn’t look at Sherlock when he said, “I like the gift.” 

A glass with two fingers of brandy appeared in front of John’s downturned gaze and he took it, taking a large sip, then a second.  

 Sherlock took John’s glass away, placing it next to his own, which stood untouched on the table. Next to the glasses was a bundle covered with a large napkin. 

“Not too much, John.” 

“I’m not drunk, and we’re not doing anything I’m unwilling to do,” John replied a second before Sherlock’s lips collided with his and John felt himself being moved to the middle of the bed. The taste of chocolate in Sherlock’s mouth clashed with John’s own bourbon taste and it felt like the metaphor of their characters together. So much contrast, but inexplicably perfect when joined in passion.  

John lay down on his front with the glorious weight of Sherlock on top of him. The frottage of his privates on the bedsheet made him groan. 

“You pulled rank today,” Sherlock’s low voice by John’s ear sent shivers through him. 

“Yes. I haven’t done that in ages.” 

“That was...good...” the words dripped with exaltation and pride. Or was it just pure arousal? John was inclined towards the latter as Sherlock’s lips sucked on the sensitive spot between his neck and shoulder. His trapezius muscles were so strung they screamed from the bites Sherlock delivered. John knew purple round circles would be visible on his skin the next day. Sherlock was marking him, claiming him and John wanted it as much as his next breath. 

Sherlock’s vicious assault continued along John’s body ending with a ferocious bite to John’s arse cheek. “Sherlock?!” 

“Did that hurt?” came a guttural question. 

“Yes,” John’s reply was muffled by the pillow he was biting. 

“Do you want me to stop?” 

“Don’t you dare!” To punctuate the threat, John pushed towards Sherlock. At that, Sherlock pulled John’s arse upwards and held his cheeks apart in a firm grip, squeezing with both hands.  

The lick that came next was expected but no less surprising for John. He relaxed to it, relishing the feel of the same tongue that delivered brilliant deductions, now doing something so gloriously vulgar. Sherlock took the plug out of the box and presented it to John. 

“Open your mouth,” Sherlock said, pulling John’s head to the side so that his left cheek lay on the pillow. John obliged wordlessly, taking the silicone between his lips, meeting Sherlock’s gaze. He sucked on it, delighted by the charged look on Sherlock’s face. It dripped with John’s saliva when Sherlock took it out. John heard the sound of the lube bottle being opened then fumbling sounds before he felt the tip of the butt plug at his back entrance.  

The plug was being worked into John’s body at a torturously slow tempo, but it wasn’t until Sherlock reached for John’s growing erection that John pushed back to get it in deeper.  

“Oh God, Sherlock...how can you be so...so...” 

“Resourceful? Dynamic? Enigmatic?” 

“...sexy,” at hearing the word leave John’s mouth, Sherlock pushed the plug all the way in and John gasped then relaxed, his erection hard now in Sherlock’s firm grip. Sherlock massaged the place where the flat end of the plug ended, then pushed it slightly in a different direction. John gasped and bit the pillow as it touched his prostate. Sherlock continued the sublime torture with the plug while keeping up an excruciatingly slow rhythm with his hand on John’s cock. “Sherlock...” John gasped as his body started bucking.  

“No, not yet.” 

“I can’t wait any longer,” John scraped his nails on the sheets as he moaned the words into the pillow. 

“Yes, you can. I know you can, John,” Sherlock said in a gravelly voice and kissed John’s shoulder blade, his lips lingering, his breath on John’s skin.  

Sherlock squeezed John’s cock below the head while slowly working the plug out. “That’s enough for today. But next time you’ll be plugged like that when you blow me,” Sherlock promised in a guttural voice. 

John could imagine it and he gripped the wooden headboard above his head, anchoring himself for the sea of pleasure Sherlock was wrenching from him. He was on the brink of jumping from the plank into that sea and getting lost in the waves of ecstasy, but Sherlock was keeping him on the edge. Once the plug was out, John collapsed flat on the bed. 

“Your first time should be on top, I think you’re ready,” Sherlock said in voice lower than usual, laced with desire so fierce that John felt his own elation rise. Sherlock wanted him so badly that he was coming apart from the hunger. 

Fortunately, Sherlock slid next to John and helped him into a new position, because John’s limbs were barely functional, the tingling spreading all over his body. John was a grenade and Sherlock just pulled out the plug out of him. All he was waiting for now was the explosion. 

John straddled Sherlock’s thighs and took a moment to marvel at the man under him, who looked like he was made of porcelain, but was decidedly not easily breakable. He was now stroking himself, spreading lube generously on his erection and waiting for John with a heated stare. 

“Come here, John,” Sherlock licked his lips and John leaned it, wanting to lick them as well. The kiss was hard, desperate and demanding. In the meantime, Sherlock positioned himself at John’s entrance and John reacted, pushing downward. He rose slightly, then sank a little further, rose and then sank again. They both groaned into the kiss as John continued his slow descent. 

John broke the kiss to sit up when Sherlock was seated inside him to the hilt. The impossible fullness was incredible but the fact that it was Sherlock filling him so deeply turned him on even more. Sherlock gripped John’s hips and started moving him back and forth. John caught the rhythm and braced himself on Sherlock’s pectorals for balance, the heat of Sherlock’s body searing into him. One of Sherlock’s hands wrapped around John’s cock and started stroking in earnest.  

“Yes. Oh god, Sherlock. You feel so good,” John felt surrounded inside and outside by his detective and it was something he had never before felt in his life. He felt completed, as if just now recognising that one thing had been missing from his life. It wasn’t only physical, he knew that now. John quickened the pace of his hips and Sherlock matched the movement of his hand to it. 

“Let go,” Sherlock growled, “come for me, John.” 

Hearing that command, John’s body exploded and he was faintly aware of the loud animal sounds he made matching Sherlock’s guttural expressions of pleasure. John’s come adorned Sherlock’s chest in white ribbons as he came feeling Sherlock pulsing inside him and arching beneath him.  

Sherlock’s flushed face, with mouth open in an O shape, should be made into a painting and hung above John’s bed so he could look at it every night before going to sleep. 

Finally, John collapsed next to Sherlock, detaching himself in the process.  

“That was...” John started. 

“I know...” Sherlock replied, still trying to regulate his breathing. 

They lay in silence for a moment, recuperating as if they had run a marathon. Sherlock got up first and brought a wet towel, with which he wiped John’s chest and then himself. John was too exhausted to care if he was sticky or not as his eyes fluttered close.  

“Open your mouth,” said Sherlock just above John’s head. A heat struck John as he heard those words remembering what Sherlock meant the last time he uttered them. With eyes still shut, he opened his mouth.  

“Mmmmm,” he said as he bit into the grape, “where did you get the food from?”  

“Downstairs,” Sherlock said through a mouthful of chocolate. 

“Now?” John sat up in bed. Did he fall asleep? 

“No, I had it brought before,” Sherlock indicated the plate on the table and John recognised it as the bundle covered with a napkin he saw earlier. Sherlock threw another grape at John and he caught it in his mouth. His reflexes had always been excellent. John couldn’t take his eyes off Sherlock, standing stark naked with a plate of food and munching on a piece of cheese. The image in front of him seemed more like a fantasy than reality to John. This was his reality now. John’s lips lifted in a secret triumphant smile. 

“You shaved,” John pointed out amused while he reached for more food from the plate. 

“Excellent deduction.” 

“It’s tricky. With a razor down there.” 

“I usually use your electric shaver but I thought clean-shaven works better for apologies.” 

"Oh, so you predicted that I...” John started saying with amusement, “...wait, you used my shaver? I use it for my face,” John burst out laughing and Sherlock’s low chuckle joined him a second later.   

 

**Author's Note:**

> Adding notes here because I’ve noticed some confusion about what is happening in the chapters I post.  
> Please notice that just because John is the submissive one in the bedroom (in my version of the story) doesn’t mean he’s not an Alpha male. Their dynamic is unique, they’re friends not sex club workers. There’s a learning curve to be taken into account as well as Sherlock’s unprecedented personality. I’d diagnose him with Asperger syndrome (he doesn’t show all the symptoms but many of them), but I’m not an expert. I do take that possibility into account when writing Sherlock. 
> 
> If you have any questions, suggestions or just want to talk, drop me a line on my Tumblr:  
> [SherlockedCarmilla](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/sherlockedcarmilla)
> 
> Music:  
> John’s POV:  
> [Chokehold – Adam Lambert](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=trgft9cScOU)
> 
> Sherlock’s POV:  
> [Better Than I know Myself – Adam Lambert](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qNgSe8ww1cU)


End file.
